


Keep faith and endure

by Shikaree



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Satinalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:09:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shikaree/pseuds/Shikaree
Summary: Satinalia - a celebration in the 11th month of Thedas that signifies Umbralis (Firstfall). Large feasts are thrown, and often the giving of gifts mark the holiday.
****
Cullen is reminded that even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope for the future.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A unabashed bit of fluff writing for the Christmas break.  
> It started with a small idea of Commander Cullen catching the Inquisitor painting, and went from there...
> 
> When holidays come around we often take time to contemplate the year behind us, and of course figure out our hopes for the year ahead. Sometimes there will be regrets, but it is important to learn from mistakes and look forwards- instead of dwelling on the things that will trap us in a mire of anguish. There is always hope, no matter how small, and sometimes it takes someone else to point things out to us that we may not be able to see ourselves.
> 
> Happy Xmas holidays ^^

With fewer guards on duty for the holiday celebration, Cullen opted to personally take charge of the patrol along the southern battlements near his office. Anything that would allow his troops to take the well-earned time off and enjoy the nightly festivities, and to avoid the seemingly endless horde of visiting nobles that had flooded through the gates since dawn. Skyhold was crowded, the gates now firmly sealed- to his relief- and the air filled with the constant hum of chatter, rowdy singing, and laughter. He was not feeling particularly in the mood to celebrate. Not so soon after Therinfal and the subsequent attack on Haven. Cullen understood the importance of allowing the Satinalia feast to take place, to foster some semblance of normality and cement the unity of the Inquisition’s surviving followers. Their family, albeit slightly dysfunctional, was growing every day with the arrival of volunteers from all over southern Thedas, and would only endure with a sturdy foundation to support it. Regardless of the sentiment, seeing the names of the fallen had dampened his spirits.

The second pass of the south-eastern tower situated near the stables made Cullen pause, a familiar yet unusual scent catching his attention. A faint aroma, yet it hung heavily in the air. Oil and something citrus? He inhaled deeper and cautiously retraced his steps back to the weather-beaten door. It was more pungent here without doubt, though there was nothing stored in there that could smell like... well, paint, now that he thought about it. With a small groan Cullen pinched at the bridge of his nose and prepared to find out. If it was Sera decorating the walls with some inane doodle of a visiting Lord or Lady’s intimate body parts _with or without arrows_ he would- Oh. Pushing the door open roughly and ready to confront the rogue, Cullen did not anticipate the scene greeting him.

The Inquisitor started at his intrusion and issued a small, embarrassed squeak at having been caught. A large canvas propped against the far wall, usually covered by a sheet, Cullen could now see was a work near completion. He had always assumed it was an old portrait taken down from the main keep and had never been curious enough to look beneath to find out. Alice stood before it, brush and palette poised in her hands, wearing a plain green tunic with the long sleeves rolled up to her elbows. His breath caught at the sight of her vulnerable beauty laid bare in that moment. The smudge of russet red on her cheek where she had wiped at it unknowing and lost in concentration. Her teeth biting into her bottom lip, azure eyes wide and fixed on him in uncertainty and surprise. Her hair pulled up into a messy braid, long dark strands falling free to her shoulders. There was a pang of regret for not knowing this about her, the things she enjoyed doing; maybe that could change.

“Shut the door!”

Her voice, edged with a wild panic, brought him back to his senses. Cullen quickly complied, noting the candles flickering in the breeze and threatening to extinguish. The warm orange glow was soothing and the scent of fresh paint intoxicating- far better than the biting chill of the mountain air or the sweaty humidity of the tavern or main hall. Right now, there was nowhere that Cullen would rather be. He stepped further into the room, focusing past her to study the painting more closely.

“It’s stunning.” He struggled to find the best word to describe it, though there was no way he could really do the painting justice. The scene she was creating genuinely impressed him. Not that he considered himself an expert in the field of art as he was in war. But the scale, composition of colours and lifelike detail of the scene... “A red lion, so few left in the wild now” he mused. The beast stood with Skyhold visible behind, the fortress exactly as it appeared on approach to the bridge, with vicious canines bared in a snarl as the lion confronted an unseen enemy.

“I-I... you... ugh.”

Flustered, Alice’s shoulders slumped and her expression became forlorn.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes! Well, no. It’s fine.”

Cullen was confused. Her skill was remarkable, certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Why was she so upset? If it was that she felt guilty at indulging in a pleasurable activity outside of her duties, then she was being silly. It was Satinalia, no-one was really working today. Except himself, of course, and a few guards who had willingly agreed to remain on rotation for security. After everything that had happened over the past few months, Alice was one of the people most deserving of a break.

“How did you slip away?” he asked, trying to ease the tension.

His diversion back to a safer topic worked. Alice smiled easily at him as she put the implements down on the cluttered table, gesturing to a stool in invitation whilst taking the other.

“Ah, you know. Inquisitor business and all that.”

“I can see that working on the nobles... but, Josephine?”

“It was a shame that I didn’t find an opportunity to speak with her before getting some air.”

Cullen snorted with laughter and sat opposite, eyeing the open bottle of West Hill’s Brandy he could see amidst the small pots of pigment with interest. “You mean you slipped into stealth.”

Alice raised a delicate brow at him in feigned indignation. “I have no idea what you mean, Commander. Though Leliana tipped her head at me as I passed, so I may find myself with a favour owed for escaping.” She massaged at the back of her neck and sighed. “I couldn’t take it anymore. Listening to Lord Eronil prattle on about how blighted nugs have swarmed across his lands, and how he is certain that the Inquisition has resources at their disposal to rid him of such a blasted nuisance in return for-” She stopped mid-rant and growled in disapproval. “Nugs! Like I don’t have bigger concerns or pests to rid Thedas of as it is. I don’t care how much he flounces his connections as being oh-so-important and beneficial. The guy is an...” Her hand flapped in exasperation.

“Ass?” Culled supplied with a smirk.

Alice chuckled and nodded in agreement. She leant forwards, deftly plucking out the brandy bottle and handed it to him with a knowing smile.

“And he’s not the worst of them, but you can see why I wanted to excuse myself.”

Cullen took a long swig, enjoying the burn at the back of his throat and the warmth spreading up from his stomach. The soldiers would cope without him for a little longer. To see Alice without the title of Inquisitor masking her true nature was intriguing and, Maker’s breath, alluring. Filling his head with uncontrollable images of his desires; relentless, and strangely sweet in their torment. Cullen remembered Alice’s accidental slip in their conversation after Haven, expressing more than simple platonic happiness at his survival. It had spurred something within. Hope. He had not considered the future to the extent he found himself wondering about it recently. Would he be afforded happiness one day, when this was all over? Or, more importantly, could there possibly be the chance of having someone to share it with?

“So, why are you not with the others tonight?” she asked.

“I didn’t want.... I wasn’t in the right frame of mind, though I accept the ambassador’s reasoning.”

“It will get better, Cullen. We will figure all of this mess out and end Corypheus before he gets a chance to impose the reign of terror and oppression he seems to want for us all. I will free as many of your former brothers-in-arms as I can, I promise.”

He nodded gratefully and took another drink, mulling over what had been eating at him inside since Therinfal. If he had not left the Templar Order when he did, there was a chance he could have been corrupted by the red lyrium. To be her enemy instead of... instead of what? The concept hurt deeper than a betrayal of just friendship.

“You’re strong, you’ve been through so much. You would not have fallen, Cullen. You would still have been here, with us- with the Inquisition” Alice assured him.

Her intuition took him aback, but she was a trained hunter- a rogue- he reminded himself; able to play the game and read people’s body language in a way that made even Leliana proud. The Nightingale had wistfully told him that if the Maker had not chosen to brand Alice that fateful day, she would have had a place by the left hand’s side without question.

“Am I that obvious?”

He fiddled with the bottle in his hands, twisting it around in his grasp before returning it to a clear spot on the table top.

“Sometimes.” She tilted her head at him. “Not always.”  

Rising from the stool Alice walked over to the canvas and beckoned for him to join her.

“I will finish this soon,” she said, “but however this sounds, I think it is important that you hear it. Tonight.” Alice gave him a hesitant smile. “I-I did the painting for you, as a present for Satinalia actually. The lion symbolises a... certain Commander.”

“Me?” Cullen asked, the question tremoring hoarsely with a sad note of disbelief he couldn’t disguise.

“I’m probably, no, I’m _definitely_ going to wake up in the morning mortified for admitting this. But, well... red lions are fierce, powerful. They flourish even in desolation, harsh mountain environments, winter storms. Yet what I find most compelling about these rare beasts is that they adapt to the hardships they face, and never falter in fighting to protect their kin.”

“It’s an honourable sentiment, Alice. But, I’m not like that” Cullen said bitterly. “Look at Kirkwall, I chose the wrong cause until the catastrophic end, fought to protect a madwoman for too long who-”

“Cullen. You came through that, it’s in the past. You adapted, as with Haven and Therinfal, and you will with whatever else is to come. Right now you are here, fighting for the future and protecting those who follow. The people rally to our cause, our soldiers believe in you because of your strength and loyalty.”

Cullen was stunned. His heart ached to know that Alice considered him in high regard when his murky, rage-filled and blinkered past pointed to the contrary. She deserved better than the shell of a man he had become. He did not mention Klinoch Hold, couldn’t. Not now. Kirkwall had marred his reputation badly enough, making him re-evaluate his judgement and being. But the tower... that was when the rot had set in. Blinking down at her hand gripping his, Cullen shook his head.

“No.”

“Cullen.” Her tone was sharper, demanding. “Would you die for me?” she asked.

“Yes.” Cullen answered without hesitation.

He was a warrior, trained to stand before those who would harm others, and with relief he saw that at least some of that remained. His core reason for joining the Templars had been to help combat the evils in the world. Whether that meant magic, abominations, lowly bandits, or a darkspawn magister infecting the Order he had left behind with a cruel song and twisting them into monsters. Was it really not too late for him? Alice didn’t seem to think so. He was trying to atone, Maker knew how hard he pushed himself to do just that. It would never be enough, but it was better than not trying at all.  

“Then how can you say that you do not have the qualities I see in you?” Alice asked.

The fragile seed of hope within was veiled by shadows, but thin tendrils spread and took root under the illumination her kindness provided. Cullen wanted to be what the magnificent beast portrayed to her and more; to be the lion emerging from its lair, no longer waiting for the arrival of a mild spring but acting decisively to ensure success in battles deemed too bleak to overcome. To be strong, resolute and unerring in duty- for the right cause, the right leader. For her, and for himself.

“I-I can’t, I guess” he relented. “I will think about it.”

“Good” Alice said, “He is in there, closer than you know. Have faith and don’t ever give up, Cullen.”

She raised up on her tiptoes and placed a kiss against his stubbled cheek. He could smell the mixture of brandy and oil paint, and feel the softness of her lips lingering after she pulled away. Next year, Cullen decided, he would try to give Alice an equally special gift.

“Happy Satinalia.”

“Thank you, Alice. Happy Satinalia.”


End file.
